


Beneath the Big Oak Trees

by Livelier



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livelier/pseuds/Livelier
Summary: Following Sirius’s disastrous prank in Sixth year, James disappears, and there is only one person who knows where to find him.





	Beneath the Big Oak Trees

**Author's Note:**

> And so the process of slowly moving things over from FF.net begins... Enjoy!

It is just past midnight when James Potter finally climbs through the portrait hole concealing the Gryffindor common room. The circular room is dark and deserted, lit only by the glow of a few stubborn embers resting in the basin of the massive stone fireplace. A tall, lanky figure occupies James’s favorite squashy armchair to the left of the dwindling fire. As the portrait of the Fat Lady swings shut, the boy in the chair stirs. He spots the black-haired boy almost immediately.

“Oi – Prongs!” calls Sirius Black as James crosses the room. He jumps from the chair and stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets. His scarlet and gold tie still hangs carelessly about his neck –he has forgotten to change out of his school uniform in the night’s excitement. Black’s handsome face splits into a devilish grin. “Did you see the look on ol’ Snivelly’s face?”

But James does not pause to return Sirius’s smirk. He reaches the staircase to the boys’ dormitory in three strides and bounds up the steps, leaving Sirius to stand alone in the darkness. The grin falls from Sirius’s face, and his features rearrange themselves into a bemused sort of expression. “Prongs?” he asks, concern lacing his tone. He follows James, taking the steps two at a time. The staircase spirals upwards, toward the very top of the quiet tower. The sounds of their hurried footsteps echo off the solid concrete walls, lit only by the cool glow of the full moon shining through a few thin slits for windows carved into the castle walls. The door to their shared dormitory is only slightly ajar when Sirius reaches the landing; warm, golden light from a bedside gas lamp seeps around the edges of the door, illuminating a narrow strip of stone beneath Sirius’s feet. “Prongs?” Sirius says again, cautiously this time. He pushes the heavy wooden door open.

James stands at the foot of his four-poster bed, his back to the door. His trunk lies open on the floor next to the bed, and Muggle clothes litter the floor. In one swift movement, James scoops up the mess on the floor and stuffs the clothing into a small, canvas rucksack. Sirius watches, horror-stricken, as James fastens the ties and swings the bag over his shoulder. He reaches for the top drawer of his bedside table and withdraws a tattered-looking bit of blank parchment. He tucks it safely into the back pocket of his trousers and – finally – turns to face the exit. Sirius takes in the state of him; the chest pocket of his white uniform shirt hangs limply from its seams, and the collar has been ripped to match. His trousers are muddy and torn at the knee on one side. Dark crimson blood has soaked through the fabric still covering the other knee. There’s a small but deep vertical cut through his left eyebrow.

Silent and stony-faced, James crosses the room quickly. Sirius moves to block the exit. “Going somewhere, mate?” asks Sirius, his eyes flickering to James’s firm grip on his wand.

“Get out of the way, Sirius,” says James through gritted teeth. His hand twitches by his side. Before tonight, he could have never imagined a situation in which he would consider cursing his best mate, but as Sirius crosses his arms over his chest defiantly, it seems a distinct possibility.

“No,” says Sirius, his jaw set.

James forces his eyes shut, and for the briefest of moments, it appears as though he might crumble. But when his eyelids fly open a few seconds later, his hazel eyes are blazing in an unfamiliar and utterly frightening manner. His fingers flex menacingly around the wand at his side. “I’m not going to ask you again, Black,” hisses James. His heartbeat pounds in his ears and hot, angry blood colors his face and neck. “ _Out – of – the – way!_ ”

They lock gazes for one long beat; Sirius searches James’s eyes for some clue, some hint of forgiveness. Instead, he finds only disappointment and sheer, unadulterated fury. Sirius’s resolve falters; he takes a small, guilty step back over the threshold. His hands slowly rise to hover on either side of his head. Surrender.

Seizing the opportunity, James stalks toward the door and pushes brusquely past him, refusing to meet Sirius’s pleading eyes. His path clear, James hurries down the winding stone steps, leaving Sirius behind in stunned silence.

“Shit!” swears Sirius loudly as the realization sets upon him.

Although James has a significant lead, Sirius slams the dormitory door shut and dashes after him. “Prongs!” He is vaguely aware of the racket his shouts and pounding footsteps are causing, but he hasn’t got time to be considerate of the whole of Gryffindor tower.

James is just reaching the portrait of the Fat Lady when Sirius leaps from the final stair. “Prongs!” he shouts again, desperate to know, to explain. All the confusion and indignance from before leaches out of him like a leaky balloon; his shoulders droop uncharacteristically, and when he speaks again, his voice is twisted and anguished. “Just let me explain, mate. Please.”

The portrait stands wide open – dim light from the corridor beyond leaks into the large circular room – but James finally seems to yield to the plea in his best mate’s voice. He pauses, one hand resting on the edge of the frame, the other still firmly gripping his wand. The common room is almost entirely dark now; the blackness veils James’s quaking frame and trembling hands. The anger he’s felt building for the last three hours pulses through him, threatening to crack his cold, hardened façade.

Seizing the opportunity before him, Sirius takes a small, uncertain step forward, his hands still raised in submission. “Let me explain,” he repeats. His voice is low and measured; few are as acutely aware of James’s temper as he. When James makes no move to leave, Sirius drops his hands to his sides. He gives a small, ironic shrug. “I dunno what I was thinking, mate. I s’pose – well, I s’pose I wasn’t – thinking.”

James’s eyes flash menacingly. Sirius hurries to assuage him, words tumbling out of his mouth like vomit. “You know Sniv – Snape – he’s always got his nose where it doesn’t belong! He’s been taunting us for weeks about Remus’s, you know,” says Sirius, lowering his voice to a low whisper and looking around surreptitiously, “his condition. Just last week he let it slip to the other Slytherins about the full moon, and I know Evans isn’t as daft as she pretends to be! I thought…” He attempts a lame shrug, but his shoulders just fall forward, pathetic and ashamed. He can hardly bring himself to utter the words. “I thought we ought to teach him a lesson.”

A black, angry cloud crosses James’s face, and he steps forward until he is just inches from Sirius. His chest heaves, and his breath unfurls between them in hot waves. “He could have been killed, Sirius,” growls James, his voice low and tight. “Where’s the lesson in that?”

Unable to meet James’s eye, Sirius averts his gaze to the floor. Anger is one thing, but he can’t bear to see the disappointment in his best mate’s face.

“And what about Moony?” James’s voice gains strength as he continues. “Can you even imagine what that would have done to him? After everything he’s been through – after everything he’s sacrificed to be here! That would have ruined him. _You_ would have ruined him!”

Sirius closes his eyes. The scene plays out on the inside of his eyelids, and he feels something coming loose within him. His knees buckle beneath his own weight, and he falls to the ground, head in hands. James backs away from him, seemingly disgusted. He stoops down to pick up the rucksack which had slipped off his shoulder to the ground. There is nothing more to say. Nothing either of them can do. The damage is done.

 A moment later, the room is flooded with soft light from the corridor beyond, and then the portrait swings shut again with a quiet but definitive click. Together, the room and the boy on the floor are plunged into darkness.

.

.

.

Two days pass, and still, James does not return.

.

.

.

She finds him on the far side of the Black Lake, hidden in the shade of the dense trees along the shoreline. The forest looms dark and foreboding behind him. At first, he seems not to see her; his dark eyes remain fixed on the water. Wordlessly, she places a brown paper sack at his feet and moves to sit beside him, leaving several feet of space between them. She can feel his eyes on her now, but she says nothing. She isn’t sure she has anything to say at all.

They sit in silence for a long while, looking out over the lake, the whole of Hogwarts Castle looming over them. A light breeze rustles the leaves on the surrounding trees and creates ripples in the otherwise still dark water of the lake. The small wooden boats used to carry first-year students to the castle bob and knock into each other in the shallows nearby. Although the air is warm for a spring day, the wind still carries a bitter chill and threatening clouds loom over the mountains in the distance, casting ominous shadows on the stone turrets of the castle. The silence is pervasive.

“How did you find me here?”

His voice cracks as though it hadn’t been used in some time, and his words ooze with something she can’t quite place. Desperation? Anger? Bitterness?

Lily digs the toe of her trainers into the soft earth. “Sometimes I like to come here myself. No one can see me, and yet I can see everything. I’m invisible here.”

James looks at her sharply. _Not to me_ , he thinks, his eyes boring into her.

Lily’s attention does not stray from the mound of excavated soil near her feet, though she does feel a twinge of heat creep up her cheeks. Another gust of wind lifts some of the dirt into the air and deposits it on the leg of her jeans.

“He misses you,” she says finally, pressing the disturbed earth back into the ground and folding her legs to her chest.

James lets out an angry sigh and – finally – releases Lily from his gaze. He too crosses his legs and reaches for a nearby stick. For a moment, he twists the bit of wood between his fingers, contemplating. Then, without warning, he breaks the wood in half and tosses it forcefully into the water. “I don’t care.”

Lily laughs, momentarily lifting the oppressive mood that had settled upon them both. “Don’t be so dramatic, Potter,” she says with an eye roll. Then, softer, “You care. I know you do.”

She was looking at him at last, an amused smile dancing on her lips. James meets her gaze, serious – their roles, for once, reversed. She’s right, of course – she always is – but he won’t admit that just yet. He wants nothing more than to bask in the radiance of her smile for now, and Lily can’t help but appreciate his stubborn morality.

James unconsciously reaches up to ruffle his untidy black hair, and Lily laughs again. The sound is carefree and bloody brilliant. James’s face breaks into a smile, and it feels like a layer of granite falling away from the sharp edge of a cliff.

They fall into a comfortable silence once more. With the tension now gone, James leans back onto his elbows and watches as Lily picks the skin of a fallen leaf from its veins. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and her vibrant red tresses seem to glitter gold in the diffuse light peeking through the clouds. Her hair is down today, a beautifully rare occurrence. The crimson waves tumble over her shoulders freely, long enough that the very tips brush the skin of her freckled forearm as she studies the frond in her hands. As her long pale fingers pluck at the flesh of the leaf, James notices that her hands are covered in faded ink blots, and her nails are bitten to the quick, as though she’d been struggling with a particularly tricky essay. Her bottle green eyes, usually bright and utterly intoxicating, look weary, and her plain white uniform shirt – undone down to the fourth button – is wrinkled. But sitting here, beneath the big oak trees on the edge of the dark lake, she seems at peace, and James is sure he’s never seen anything more perfect.

“Severus and I used to do this,” says Lily abruptly, looking down at the leaf. She stares at it for a moment before shredding the remaining bits and tossing it onto the ground next to her. At the mention of Snape, James feels his momentary bliss slip away. The feeling is replaced by a dense, guilty pit in his stomach. “We used to hide in the trees down near Spinner’s End, where Petunia couldn’t find us, and he would tell me fantastic stories about magic and Hogwarts… I couldn’t wait to join this world – his world. It was so separate and foreign from my own, but I never really felt afraid because I knew I wouldn’t be alone. Severus – he made me feel like it was okay to be different.”

The pit in James’s stomach grows considerably heavier. The quiet that settles over them now is unlike any before. It is sophisticated, severe, and utterly immutable. When Lily finally looks up, James is surprised to see her eyes shining with tears. He searches for the right words – any words, really – to comfort her, but her penetrating gaze paralyzes him.

“Severus was my best friend, James. But when I got to Hogwarts, I was so intoxicated by the magic and the wonder… I left him behind. I left him behind, and he turned to the only other thing he knew: hatred and darkness.” She turns her gaze to the obsidian water in front of them and takes a shaky breath. “I know you and your mates hate Severus – sometimes I think I do too – but people aren’t born evil. They are beaten and worn down until it becomes easier to give in than to fight.”

James opens his mouth to respond, but Lily holds up a hand to silence him. “I’m not condoning their actions. Severus made his decisions, and so did Sirius. What he did to Snape – and Remus – was horrible and cruel. He’s bloody lucky that no one was hurt.” Her features soften as she fixes James with another piercing stare. “But Sirius needs you, James. He always has. And you need him, too. Don’t leave him behind.”

Her words seem to hang in the air between them, swirling around like fallen leaves in a breeze. He knows she is right; she always is. They sit in silence for a few moments longer, and then Lily is standing and brushing the dirt from her trousers. James jumps to his feet and makes a desperate grab for her hand, willing her to stay. “Lily – “

She gives him a sad smile, squeezes his hand reassuringly, and without another word, Lily turns her back on him and strides back along the water’s edge to the castle, now brightly lit against the darkening sky. James watches her scarlet hair bobbing alongside the dark trees until she disappears behind the greenhouses. With a deep sigh, he glances down at his feet and notices for the first time the forgotten paper sack. He unrolls the folded top and pulls out two ham sandwiches and a handwritten note.

> _See you tomorrow._
> 
> _P.S. This is still my spot._

A grin erupts upon his face. James sits down and stretches his long limbs out in front of him. He folds his hands together behind his head and closes his eyes, smiling at the thought of shared spaces and turned corners.


End file.
